Page 36 of Twisted Violet

“Shit, V.”

In three long strides, he’s kneeling in front of me, his voice lower now but no less urgent. “What happened? Did you fall? Did someone-?”

“No,” I whisper. “I just… wasn’t paying attention and cut myself. It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t look convinced. His gaze flicks over me again, scanning for other injuries like he’s expecting more damage. His jaw clenches as he reaches for the first aid kit under the sink.

I try to speak again, to brush it off, but my throat locks up.

Dallas is so close. Close enough, I can smell his cologne and the faint scent of mint on his breath. He focuses, hands gentle but firm as he unwraps the towel, careful not to jostle me more than he has to.

“You’re shaking,” he says quietly. “Are you cold?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m fine.”

But I’m not, and we both know it.

Dallas doesn’t press me on it, he just keeps working. His brow furrows in concentration as he cleans the cut and wraps it in gauze. He moves like he’s done this a hundred times, but the tension in his shoulders tells me this time’s different.

Ollie presses closer, head now resting across my feet.

I sit there and try not to fall apart.

Say it.

Tell him what happened. Tell him someone texted you.

That you think it’shim. That he’s torturing you all over again.

I open my mouth.

Dallas looks up to meet my eyes, and I see it. The softness. The hope. The quiet, unspoken question he’s too afraid to ask: Why can’t you trust me?

And I break inside a little more, because Iwantto trust him.

I want to fall into him, to tell him I’m scared and that I don’t know what to do. But I’m already holding on by a thread, and if I let go, if I let him see the truth, I’ll unravel. And he’ll see the mess and finally decide he wants no part in it.

So I force a smile, even as it trembles on the edges.

“Thanks for patching me up,” I say softly.

Dallas holds my gaze. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes dims. Just a little, like he knows I’m holding something back.

But he doesn’t push the subject; he just nods once. “Anytime, V.”

The moment Dallas leaves, I reach for my phone again.

The messages are still there, sitting on my screen like wounds I can’t stitch up.

My thumb hovers over the thread, and for one breath, I consider showing it to him. Telling him everything and letting him carry some of the weight, but the thought sours fast.

I know exactly what will happen if I do.

He’ll look at me the same way people always do when they realize I’m broken beyond repair, and he’ll realize I’m not worth the trouble.

I’ve already been the fragile girl they had to rescue once.

I can’t be her again.